“Deal.”
We each pick songs with stories to tell. I play one first, a sad song about a husband who stops recognizing his wife in his old age but remembers the memories of their youth. “Every time I hear this song, I want to cry,” I tell Andrew
He scoffs. “Then why are you playing it for me?”
“Because it’s a beautiful story,” I burst. “Can’t you hear how strong their love is?”
When it’s his turn, he picks a more upbeat song, claiming, “This date needs to be salvaged from the depressing note youbrought to it.”
“Whatever,” I cry, rolling my eyes as he smirks mischievously. Gosh, I want to kiss him right now.
We pull into the parking lot of a nice-looking restaurant. Andrew leaps out of the driver’s seat and runs around to open my door.
“Thank you.” I smile sweetly at him as he grabs my hand and walks me toward the front door. “What is this place?”
He swings open the heavy door. “You’re going to absolutely love it, Em.”
“So, biology, huh?” I ask Andrew between bites of the best brick-oven pizza I’ve ever had.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m going with for now.”
I nod my head pensively. “What do you want to use your biology degree for? I always pictured you doing something more creative.”
“Honestly, I pictured myself doing something different too until last year.” There’s a pause, heavy with the unspoken truth of what must’ve changed the trajectory of his decisions. “I’m thinking I’ll go to med school. I want to help people, and this seems like a good way to do it.”
I furrow my brows a little. “What do you think of your classes? Can you see yourself as a doctor, or is that just what you think you have to do?”
I can see there’s a twinge of dissatisfaction on his face at the way I’m questioning him, but I’m a little worried.
“The classes are fine, but it’s a lot of introductory classes freshman year. I’m sure you understand. They’re not all that relevant to what I’ll be doing yet.”
I finish chewing my cheesy bite of heaven before challenging, “You didn’t answer whether or not you could see yourself being a doctor.”
“I already told you it’s not what I pictured for myself before, but I’m starting to see it.” He grimaces.
“What did you picture yourself doing before last year?”
His face screws in concentration and he takes a bite of his pesto pizza to stall. This shouldn’t be a difficult question to answer, but I think the conversation is making him uncomfortable. He knows I don’t agree with following a career path just because hethinksit’s what he should do.
“I guess I always pictured myself as a writer. I wanted to write my own books one day.”
My face lights up. “Oh yeah! I remember you mentioning that before. I could see you doing that! Aw, Andrew, I love that for you! What’s holding you back from pursuing a writing career?” Recalling a conversation we had about this topic last summer, I guess, “Is it what everyone else says about how much money you’ll make?”
He tucks his chin into his shoulder, shying away a little. I rarely ever see Andrew in any state besides confident.
“Yeah, I’m not sure that it’s a good way to make a living. Life as a writer would be harder.”
I weigh out his response for a moment. “I mean, not all writers make it as huge authors, but it’s not like you couldn’t still make a living doing what you love. I’ve never read anything you’ve written, but I know you’d be a brilliant writer. A lot of people are having success with self-publishing these days.” As excitement builds, I nearly shout, “You could even do smaller, more steady gigs like writing for a magazine or something to help keep you afloat.”
A soft smile grows on his face. “You know, I wrote a lot growing up. I wrote a lot of short stories, but I never shared them with you because you were in most of them.”
My jaw drops to the ground, and my stomach stirs. I don’t have the soft fluttering of butterflies though. Instead, it’s the furious flapping of hummingbirds bouncing allaround in my stomach. “Andrew, you know I have to read those stories now! Tell me about them.”
At my request, his whole body language changes. He is practically radiating light and excitement. “Well, they were mostly fantasy stories since that’s what I grew up reading. You frequently made an appearance as the princess who didn’t want to become queen. Instead, you helped this knight, me of course, on all his adventures. They grow to be friends, and the knight develops feelings for the princess after several adventures with her, but he can’t be with her because she’s royalty and, of course, she’s already been arranged to marry another man who is brave and rich and hand-selected by her family. It’s full of all the cliches, but it was still an escape.”
“How’d you get the idea for that?” I always thought I knew Andrew so well, but here I am discovering there’s a whole other side to him that I didn’t know existed. It’s not just a minor detail about him either. This is clearly something he’s extremely passionate about. I can see it on his face the moment he opens his mouth to talk about it.
He shrugs and casually wipes his hands on the napkin in his lap. “I took a lot of inspiration from other books I read, and I guess elements of my own life. It’s much easier to write about things you know. Wanting someone who doesn’t want you back was my reality, and it was easy to write about. Yes, I know now that wasn’t the truth, but in my head at the time, it was.”
